Indebted
by Bamfwriter
Summary: Takes place right after the episode The Debt. Jim acts like a jerk.


"SANDBURG!"

The bellow made the glass in the balcony doors rumble. Ellison just stood in the doorway of his home, staring in shock. The place was trashed. Larry the ape was seated happily on the couch, chattering excitedly at the colors and sound effects as someone got the Daily Double on Jeopardy. Wordlessly, Jim turned and fixed his new and very temporary roommate with an icy glare. The young man was cowering against the far wall of the hallway, staring at him in terror.

Jim bobbed a finger at Blair, and the student crept forward, yelping as Ellison grabbed him by the nape and aimed his face at the mess. He heard the kid's heart start to race as he gazed around at the damage. It was even worse than the last time.

"Oh, geez," Blair hissed. He carefully pulled himself out of Jim's grip, and turned, grinning a little to try and lessen the tension. The grin quickly fled when he saw the muscle in Jim's jaw start to throb. "I'm sorry, man. I'll clean it up right now. You'll never know it happened." With that, the eager- to-please young man turned and hurried over to the couch, where he began to reason with the ape.

Ellison didn't say a word. He slowly entered his home, and locked the door behind him. His eyes never left Blair as he stalked across the paper-scattered floor to the stairs. He shot his young nemesis another icy scowl before turning his back and trudging smartly up to his room.

/That's it/ Jim decided, as he yanked off his shirt and hurled it into the corner. /He's out. He...is...OUT./ A smile of satisfaction curled at his anger-tightened lips as he made the decision. The week he had offered Blair was up in a day. Then his home would become his again, unblemished by the young, inconsiderate slob that was now busily sweeping up monkey treat from under the couch.

With a sigh that was half groan, Jim tied the belt of his robe and went back downstairs.

Dinner was a splendid affair, complete with candlelight and peach pie for dessert. True, it was a Granny Mae's frozen one, but it still tasted wonderful. Jim was impressed by his counterpart's attempt at a truce, but he would not let his judgment be swayed. The kid was out, tomorrow.

He watched from the couch as Blair quickly and thoroughly cleaned up the kitchen, never so much as glancing in Ellison's direction for help. The last of the plates were neatly stacked in the cupboard, and Jim turned his head to follow Blair's path toward the spare room. A twinge in his neck interrupted his vigil, and he gasped. He rubbed at the sore spot in annoyance, realizing that he now felt a dull ache throughout most of his upper body.

"Are you all right?"

Ellison started a bit, looking up to find his partner standing over him, gazing down in concern. He waved the young man off, snorting, and shifted around to face away from him. "I'm fine," he replied icily, "Just a little sore from bouncing off the hood of that truck. Not that you would understand, you aren't exactly the physical type, are you?" he really didn't mean to add the second half of his thoughts, but once the words were out, Jim felt a sneaking glimmer of satisfaction at the embarrassed look that darkened Blair's face.

"No...no, I'm not. You're right," Blair answered softly. Then, he appeared to shake off the feelings of inadequacy, and asked brightly, "Would you like me to get you some salve?"

Ellison blinked. He had expected a retort from the kid, not an offering of help. He turned and studied Sandburg's face, looking for traces of sarcasm, but did not see anything but genuine concern. Feeling mildly ashamed, he nodded, and even managed a tiny half-grin. From his reaction, one would think he had awarded Blair a medal. A wide smile brightened the young face, then he bounced up off the couch and all but flew into the bathroom.

"You just lie down and get comfy, Jim! I'll be back in two seconds!"

There was a small crash from the bathroom, and Jim paused in the process of shifting onto his belly. "Hey! Now don't start messing up THAT room, too, Sandburg!" he called, nastily. Damn, but he hurt. At last, he was settled comfortably, face down on the couch, arms folded beneath his chin. He heard Blair's sock feet padding back across the floor, and a moment later the cushions bounced.

"Owww! Be careful, will you?" Jim barked over his shoulder.

"Sorry," came the tiny response.

Everything was silent for a moment as Blair unscrewed the jar of salve, scooped a little onto his fingers, and gently tugged Jim's robe down to bare the strong back. As he began to knead it into the hard muscles of Jim's, the sentinel gave a sniff, and tried to sit up. Blair hastily stood as his patient rolled over, one hand reaching back to touch the ointment on his skin. He raised the hand to his nose and inhaled briefly, then made a face.

"Goddammit, Chief!" Jim bellowed, springing off the couch and heading for the bathroom. He washed the foul-smelling goop from his hands, and then scrubbed the rest off his back with a tea towel. He opened the medicine cabinet and snatched the small yellow tube from its proper place, then stalked back into the living room. Blair was looking up at him from the couch with a mixture of fear and confusion on his face.

"Jim, what's the matter? Did I hurt...,"

"No, you didn't hurt," Jim sneered back, imitating Blair's tone of voice in a rude, sing-song fashion. "I told you, I don't like that organic crap you use. I want my Ben Gay." He gestured for Blair to clear off the couch, then sat down himself. "Forget my back," he snapped irritably, "it's my chest and shoulders that hurt the worst. Do them first." He fixed Blair with a steely glare, daring the young man to object.

Sandburg nodded, and set the jar of natural salve to the side. "OK Jim, now you just lie back and relax. I'll take care of everything."

"Get rid of that shit first," Jim ordered. "And go wash your hands. I can still smell it." He watched Blair quickly stand and head for the bathroom. Then another thought struck him, and he whistled, fighting down a sneer as the kid jumped.

"I mean, throw it away, Sandburg. The salve."

Blair froze, then turned to him, very slowly. he looked from Jim to the little jar he held nervously in his hands. His face was a mask of uncertainty as he looked now from the salve to the trash basket in the kitchen.

"Well?" Jim asked, petulance in his tone.

"I...Jim I," Blair took a deep breath, pushing the hair out of his eyes. "Jim, an old friend of mine got me this in Tanzania. I...I really don't want to throw it away. Can I just keep it closed up in my...in the...in your spare room?"

Ellison just glowered at the anthropologist for a long moment, then shrugged. "Whatever. Just don't let me get a whiff of it again, or I WILL throw it away." He listened as Blair hastily packed the offending substance away in his backpack. Then footsteps padded into the bathroom again, and he heard Blair's washing his hands. A few moments later, the smiling young man emerged, drying his hands on his shirt as he came to kneel beside the couch again.

"OK, then," Sandburg said cheerfully. "Now you just relax, and leave everything to me." He motioned for Jim to lie down.

Ellison gave a long suffering sigh as he was eased back onto the couch cushions, wincing as his bruised ribs complained at the motion. Now that the case was closed, and the bad guys vanquished, it was all right for him to give in to the pain a little. He'd known as soon as he rolled off that truck he was hurt. Yet he had kept it quiet, hidden, squelched away from Blair and his over-zealous concerns. An ex-Covert Ops Army Ranger did not give in to trivial injuries. Especially not before completing his job.

His thoughts were interrupted as Blair opened his robe and began to rub his pecs with ointment-coated hands. Ellison moaned in relief, the day's tension at last beginning to fade. He was a bad patient, he knew that. Carolyn had nearly killed him once or twice when he was sick. Blair was apparently willing to put up with a lot more.

As the talented hands began to knead his shoulders and biceps, Jim moaned again. This time, he couldn't hold down a smile of pleasure at the wonderful sensations. A soft chuckle from his masseur scratched into his relaxed mind, and his eyes opened to glare up at the young man. Blair missed the look, he was too intent on his work. He smiled and chuckled again, unaware of how he was annoying his patient.

"What is so damned funny?" Jim muttered. Shifting a little.

"Sorry," Blair murmured, smile evident in his voice. "I was just thinking about how funny this seems, you, the big, tough cop, succumbing to the scrawny little bookworm." Blair began to chuckle again, but stopped abruptly as the detective opened both eyes to stare at him.

"What do you mean by that?" the sentinel demanded.

"What?" Blair stammered. "What, all I meant was that it was...that it's kinda funny how you and I need each other, you know?" he drew back nervously as Jim slowly sat up, cold fire in the blue eyes.

"Listen up, kid," Jim growled softly, "And don't forget this, because I'm only gonna say it once." He leaned forward, despite the discomfort, so his face was inches from the surprised features of his roommate. "I...Do NOT...Need ...YOU." Each word was punctuated by a gentle poke to Blair's chest. "Got it? I am the self-sufficient one here, OK? I'm the one who gets us out of trouble." With a sigh, Jim laid back again and closed his eyes. "You need me, Sandburg. I most certainly do not need you."

"Sure, Jim," came the murmured, nearly inaudible reply. "I understand."

Silence hung heavy in the loft. Ellison began to relax under the gentle, caring ministrations of Blair's hands as they resumed their actions, carefully kneading and rubbing over his aching muscles. He was about to drift off, when a drop of moisture splashed onto his belly. Then another. Curious, Jim opened his eyes. What he saw filled him the most potent self-loathing he had ever felt.

Blair was staring straight ahead, as if counting the threads in the back of the couch. He wasn't looking at his hands that continued to soothe and comfort. His hair swung slightly with each motion of his arms. His mouth was slightly open, and as Jim watched, a nervous tongue darted out to wet trembling lips. A small swallow bobbed the prominent Adam's Apple. But what most caught Jim's attention were Blair's eyes...Or rather, the silent tears that trickled slowly from them.

Drip. Drip. Drip-drip. Salty little reminders of his cruelty continued to fall onto Jim's skin. He couldn't look away from that face, fraught with sadness. And still Blair worked on, ignoring his tears, as if they did not exist, concentrating on making his sentinel comfortable.

/Monster/ Jim thought angrily/Happy now? Done proving your superiority? Oh yeah, you're a real tough number, look at how efficiently you made the kid cry. Dad would be so proud./

He studied the anthropologist for a long time, heart aching at the silent suffering. He felt like a slug. No, correction, he felt like the stuff slugs scraped off the bottoms of their shoes. With a sigh, Jim reached up with the hand closest to Blair. About halfway up, the young man seemed to notice, and stopped his motions, letting his hands rest on Jim's side. Taking a deep breath for courage Jim finished his gesture, gently cupping Blair's cheek. He just held the face in his hand for a moment, then softly brushed his thumb across the damp skin.

Blair's eyes slid shut as Ellison stroked his face, the tears increasing to steady streams that flowed like little rivers from beneath the closed lids. The young man mashed his lips together, but his chin wrinkled and quivered, the corners of his mouth turning down. Jim carefully pushed Blair's hands away, pulled his robe around his torso and sat up, one knee on either side of the kneeling anthropologist. As he cupped both hands to his roommate's face, Blair's eyes opened and looked up at him wetly.

"I...I'm sorry," Sandburg rasped, barely in control. Ellison could tell the young man was fighting not to start sobbing. Blair's eyes closed again, and he tilted his head down, away from Jim. Ellison fought against the move, using his hands to guide the sweet face up once more. He ran his thumbs tenderly back and forth under Blair's closed eyes, swiping away the tears and leaving room for new ones. There seemed to be an endless supply from the blue pools, and so he tried a new way of damming the flow.

Leaning forward, Jim slowly, tentatively slipped his arms around the slim body. He felt Blair briefly try to push him away, but he didn't give up. He tugged his partner forward and held him against his chest, gently squeezing with the arm across the narrow shoulders. The tightly-wound body began to melt into his embrace, and Jim breathed a sorrowful sigh as he felt fresh tears begin to soak his chest. Soon, Blair was sobbing, clutching at the folds of Jim's robe and pressing his face into his shoulder.

Ellison didn't speak. He just held his partner, his assistant, his... friend, letting the young man cry out his frustrations and hurt. The fact that he himself was the cause of the tears flowing down his front filled Jim with disgust. Disgust at himself, at the monstrous, hurtful things he had said to the young man. He had taken his pain out on Blair, when the kid was doing everything in his power to make his sentinel happy. The unexpected reversion back to the old Ellison scared him.

"Shhhhh," Jim hushed, cupping his hand to the back of Blair's curl-covered head. "Shhh, oh god...I'm sorry, I am so sorry," he whispered, pulling back and pressing his forehead to Blair's. "I don't know where this came from. I didn't mean a word of it." He took a deep breath and slowly rolled his forehead back and forth, increasing the contact between his and Blair's brows. "I do need you, Blair. I need you more than I need oxygen. You...you're the world to me, don't you know that?"

Another sob was the only reply, and Jim folded Blair to him again, tucking the smaller man's head beneath his chin. He rocked a little, making soothing little shushing noises, big hands rubbing over the bony back. When at last the sounds of despair dwindled and stopped, he held still for a minute more, then gently drew back. He allowed Blair to pull away, but kept his arms around the slim figure.

"D-d-do you hate me, Jim?" the tiny, quavering voice asked. "Did I do something wrong today? Please, just tell me, and I swear I won't ever do it again. I don't...," the litany was stopped by Jim's hand gently touching Blair's lips.

"Oh Chief," Jim breathed, his own tears starting to blur his vision. He slipped his hand around to cradle the nape of Blair's neck, and leaned forward to gently place a kiss on the smooth, rounded forehead. "I could never hate you, ever. " He took a deep, cleansing breath, the way his partner had showed him. "You've made such a difference in my life. I'm not the same person I was a year ago, and I know that it's because of you." Jim took another deep breath, willing away the unpleasant memories of days gone by.

"I don't know what happened to me just now, Blair. All I can think is that it must have been the pain and stress from the day, maybe finally finding a release. I'm so sorry, buddy. I didn't mean it." He kissed Blair's brow again. "Do you believe me?"

"Uh huh," Blair whispered. He looked up at his sentinel for a few seconds, then leaned in again and snuggled against the strong figure. "I think...I think maybe we're living in too close of quarters. It'll be fine once I move out...tomorrow."

Jim squeezed him tighter. "Shhhh, you can stay as long as you like, Blair. You're a welcome addition to my life. I want you to be an addition to my home as well." He pulled back to look inquisitively down at his quiet partner. "Is that OK with you?" He watched as Blair sniffled, then smiled. It was like the sun coming out.

"Yeah Jim, that's great," Sandburg murmured, hugging his partner. He rested his chin on Jim's shoulder and looked around at the loft, smiling as the big hands began to rub his back again. He felt warm, safe, cared for. He was home. For the first time in his life, he was home.

And it felt good.

THE END 


End file.
